The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  Maggie looked at Joe and raised her eyebrows.

  "The no. You said, yes and no."

  "Oh, yeah." She paused again and put her fork down, giving herself time to gather her thoughts. "Being a cop, especially the chief, can be pretty lonely at times." A mild warmth touched her cheeks. "It seems nobody wants to get close to a female cop."

  Joe cocked his head to one side. "Have there been any guys you wanted to get close to?" he said with a mischievous smile.

  "No." She said it so quickly she surprised herself. "I mean ... no." Joe had succeeded in flustering her. She needed to change the subject. And quick. "So how about you? Why landscaping?"

  Joe shrugged. "I love being dirty."

  Maggie laughed at the double meaning, and Joe joined her when the humor obviously struck him. It was nice to have some comic relief.

  "No, no, no. Not like that," he said, waving his hands back and forth. "Goodness. Talk about a poor choice of words. You know what I mean."

  She laughed some more. "Do I? Remember, Joe Saunders, I knew you when you were a young buck strutting your stuff. Remember the time we snuck away during the senior class trip. They looked for us for hours, and when they finally found us I think everyone knew what we'd been up to. I think they were more embarrassed than we were."

  Joe chuckled and tilted his head. "That was such a long time ago, wasn't it? We've both changed so much."

  Maggie shifted in her chair. It was a long time ago. Too long, and they'd both changed too much. "Yes, we have, and you wound up in landscaping."

  "Oh, yeah." Joe shrugged. "I love working outside and getting my hands dirty. In high school, I was thinking about going to college for botany or agriculture or something like that."

  "I remember. That's why it surprised me so much when you showed up that day with a buzz cut saying you were joining the army."

  Yes. That day. He had joined the army.

  Joe thought back to the day. He remembered it all so vividly, the smell of Sergeant Wickham's cologne, the scratch of the pen as he signed his name, the sound of the clippers as they ran over his head, the seemingly endless drive to Maggie's house to tell her the news, the beating of his heart so fiercely he thought for sure it was going to bust right out of his chest, the look of shock on Maggie's face, the tears, the questions, the smell of her flowery perfume and softness of her body as they hugged, the feeling of finality even though he had promised to return.

  He knew he had hurt her, but he also knew his life was going nowhere. He'd never make it in college. Sure, it was nice to dream about such things, but the reality of it was that he wasn't smart enough to coast through and wasn't determined enough to work hard. He'd have flunked out anyway.

  And what kind of husband would he have made? He would have wound up a college dropout working twelve-hour shifts at the paper mill, hating his job. Miserable. But if his life had taken a different direction, Rick would still be alive and Caleb would most likely not be in a coma. So it was all his fault.

  Forcing aside the rising wave of guilt that suddenly threatened to overcome him, Joe sighed. "Yeah, I know. I guess it surprised me too. It was an impulsive thing. I guess all the talk about college and how serious we were getting just kind of scared me, and I ran. Unfortunately, I fell into the wrong arms."

  Maggie propped her elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her hands. "So why landscaping, though? Why not forestry or farming or something else that's outside and"-she smiled and never looked more like Audrey Hepburn-"natureful, if that's a word."

  Joe smiled. "I don't think it is, but I'm sure Mr. Webster would be proud of you for coining a new one." He grew serious. "After Rick died, I ran again. Seems to be the story of my life. Maybe I should have trained for a marathon."

  Maggie smiled politely.

  Joe continued. "I moved north, rented an apartment, a real dive, and started a three-week wallow in my own guilt and shame. I don't think I left the apartment once. Then, one day, I woke up and looked around. The floor was littered with crumbs. Empty pizza boxes and Chinese cartons were everywhere, even in the bathtub. The kitchen sink was piled high and overflowing with dirty dishes. I looked in the mirror and saw a man with bags under his eyes, a scraggly beard, and greasy hair. I didn't even recognize myself." He paused, remembering the painful moment of the awakening. "It was at that moment I realized what I really was, what I had become-a loser. I was everything I had once despised, everything I had told myself I would never become. And at that moment, standing in the bathroom, looking at that stranger in the mirror-that loser-I determined to change. So that very day I cleaned that apartment so good it sparkled.

  "There were plenty of older people in the neighborhood who needed help around their yards. So I made up some fliers and went door-to-door offering my services: mowing, pruning, trimming, sheep shearing, whatever. Within a week I had five clients-no sheep to shear-and the rest, well..."

  They both smiled and finished his thought in unison, "... is history."

  Maggie laughed again, not a polite or forced laugh, but a genuine laugh that reached all the way to her eyes and bent them into little crescents that warmed the room. "I'm proud of you, Joe."

  There was an awkward moment of silence until Maggie looked at her plate and must have noticed her food was gone. She set her fork down and sat back in her chair. "Wow. I'm stuffed."

  Joe smiled. Maggie was beautiful. She put that Hepburn lady to shame. The way the candlelight glowed on her soft face and danced in her endless blue eyes made him wish he'd never left Dark Hills, made him wish all this business about her family and the attacks did not exist. It made him wish it was just the two of them, here, now, together, with no barrier between them so they could pick up where they had left off fifteen years ago and fall in love all over again.

  He would do it right this time. They'd get married, move away from Dark Hills, start a new life somewhere else. Maybe up north. New England. He'd always wanted to live in New England.

  "It was delicious," he said, placing his napkin on the plate. "Well done." He wanted to say more, so much more, but something prevented him. Maggie's next question would reveal why.

  "So what have you been up to?" she asked.

  No! Don't ask that. I don't want to lie to you.

  And it was at that moment, staring into her blue eyes, feeling emotions that had been buried for fifteen years, that Joe decided what he had to do. He wouldn't lie to her. He would tell her the truth. "Maggie," he said, leaning his elbows on the table and meeting her gaze. "I need to be honest with you. I was at the library yesterday and-"

  The phone rang.

  Joe glanced into the kitchen as if willing the thing not to ring again. He had to get this out, and this may be his only chance. "I, uh-"

  It rang again. Maggie slid her chair back and stood. "I'm sorry. Let me answer it and get rid of whoever it is."

  She ran into the kitchen.

  Joe heard her say "Hello."

  CHAPTER 28

  AGGIE, WE GOT a situation." It was Andy. He was covering the evening shift.

  "OK." Maggie found it hard to hide her annoyance at the untimely interruption.

  "Um, I'm gonna need you to come out here."

  "Where's here?"

  "'Bout a mile outside of town, off Route 20."

  "I'm kinda busy right now. Can it wait?"

  There was a loud sigh on the other end. "Eddie Hopkins ran off the road and into the cornfield. Um, it looks like another... attack. And... there's something here you'll want to see."

  Maggie's throat constricted. Another attack. The words pounded through her head like a semi.

  She needed to get rid of Joe.

  "OK. I'll be right there."

  "Everything OK?" Joe asked when Maggie returned. Her face looked like someone had turned a valve and drained the blood out of it.

  She stood by her chair, fingering the ring on her right hand. "Um, I'm sorry, Joe. I have to run. That was Andy. There's been an accident out on Route 20 an
d I need to check it out."

  "Oh." Joe pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll come with you-'

  "No," she said, cutting him off. "You don't need to do that. It may wind up being a late night. Besides, there'll be tons of paperwork to do afterward. Just a bunch of boring police stuff. It's gonna be a late night."

  "OK," Joe said. He could tell by Maggie's behavior that something was going on, something more than just a car accident. He decided not to press the issue, though, knowing it would do no good and not wanting to ruin what had turned out to be a pleasant evening. "Well, thanks for the meal and the company. It was nice, Mags. Real nice. I'm glad we got to spend this time together."

  Maggie smiled and reached for her coat. "I enjoyed it too. Thanks for coming over."

  Then came the moment of awkwardness. They stood face-to-face, no more than two feet apart, staring at each other while an uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them. Finally, Joe clumsily put out his hand and took Maggie's in his. He smiled awkwardly and said, "Thanks again, Mags. Maybe we can do it again sometime soon."

  "OK." That was it. That was all that came out. He wanted her to say more, but her mind was obviously not on him.

  It was on Andy's phone call. It was on Route 20.

  When Maggie arrived at the scene of Eddie's accident, Gary and Andy had already marked the area off with yellow police tape and were waiting by the road for her.

  She eased her car to a stop and opened the door.

  Gary was right there. "Maggie, this is some weirded-out stuff."

  She grabbed the flashlight from the passenger seat and clicked it on.

  Gary led the way, keeping his light on the glowing rear reflectors of Eddie's Buick. Andy and Maggie followed, stepping carefully over the flattened stalks and scanning the rows of corn with their lights.

  "I was driving by and noticed the corn down," Andy said. "I took a closer look and noticed a car sitting in the field. I ran the plates, and it came up Eddie's. At first I thought he'd just lost control and ran off the road. But then I noticed the trail."

  Maggie looked at him. The flashlight was bright enough that she could clearly make out the lines of his face. She knew Andy well enough to know that when he was disturbed the lines at the corners of his mouth dipped downward and deepened. And he was disturbed. "What trail?"

  They arrived at the car, and Gary pointed his light at the corn. "There," he said, pointing past the first row of stalks.

  Maggie looked hard, but all she saw were a few illuminated shoots of corn against a black backdrop. "I don't see it."

  "Show her, Andy," Gary said.

  "Here." Andy pushed two stalks to either side and stepped past the first row. He pointed his flashlight where a row of stalks had been flattened, broken at a right angle three inches above the ground.

  Maggie leaned in and pointed her light in the same direction. "OK. You got my attention. Did you follow it?"

  Andy nodded. "I called Gary and waited for him, then the two of us followed it."

  "And?"

  Andy looked at Maggie with wide eyes. "Well... I think you better see for yourself."

  Maggie stiffened her back. "Andy, I'm not in the mood for surprises. What's down there?"

  "Eddie."

  "What's left of him," Gary added.

  Maggie took a deep breath. Dread gnawed at her gut. Andy's words swam through her head: another attack. If it was anything like the attack on Woody Owen, she would almost certainly lose her dinner. She wondered what the rosemary chicken would taste like a second time. An odd thought. She swallowed hard and braced herself. "OK. Let's go."

  Gary led the way, followed by Maggie, then Andy. The ground was soft from the rain, and their shoes sank into the soil as they walked. The trail of broken stalks wound through the field for maybe thirty yards before it finally ended.

  Gary stood in a small clearing and pointed his light at his feet. "Eddie."

  Maggie pointed her light at Gary's feet. Bile surged into her throat, and her skin went cold.

  It was a hand, severed at the wrist.

  "That's it," Gary said. "That's all we found. We circled the perimeter maybe ten, fifteen yards out but found nothing. The rain must have washed away any blood trail."

  Maggie held her light steady on the muddy hand. Its fingers were curled around something. It looked like a piece of paper. "What's that in the palm?"

  "I'm not sure," Andy said. "We didn't want to touch anything until you got here."

  Maggie stooped and carefully pulled the paper from the rigid fingers, causing the hand to shift. She turned the paper over. There was writing, blurred and smeared, but decipherable. An icy rush started in her hands and crept up her arms, through her neck, and settled in the back of her head.

  She read the words aloud: "An eye for an eye."

  Now she had three dead. And this. A note.

  Was the killer a person after all? Some serial nutcase roaming Dark Hills? But Joe saw a beast of some sort in the woods. And Doc Adams said Cujo's killer was most likely a large cat, a lion. And no human could possibly do what was done to Woody Owen.

  And didn't Great-Grandpa say something about Old Man Yates ranting and raving about Judgment Day? About vengeance? They were pieces to a puzzle, but where did they all fit? And how did they fit together? Maggie had a growing feeling that she wouldn't like the picture the pieces made.

  She crumpled the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. Her hands were shaking, and her stomach was roiling. "OK. Nobody hears about this. Eddie drove off the road, and nobody's seen him since. Andy, get rid of the hand. Gary, get rid of the tape, and call Carl Summers to tow the car."

  Andy moved his light away from the hand. "What do you think the note means? Who do you think wrote it?"

  Maggie pressed her molars together. The pressure in her head was building again. "I don't know. I need some time to think this through."

  Not more than thirty feet from the hand, Stevie crouched close to the ground, still, silent, listening and watching as the cops discussed their next move. He was dressed in black and felt invisible among the thick rows of corn.

  He smiled. The glow of the flashlights reflected the fear in Chief Maggie's eyes-they glowed red with terror.

  Wilt and Warren were trying to be tough guys, but he could see the fear in their eyes too.

  So far things were going as planned. They had found the hand, which was good. And they had found the note, which was better.

  He waited patiently for them to leave. Chief Maggie left first, then Wilt bagged the hand and waited with Warren until the tow truck came. It took all of thirty minutes to hook the car up and drag it out of the field. But all the while, Stevie crouched, smiling in the darkness.

  When the last flashlight winked out and their headlights faded out of view and the field was once again dark and quiet, Stevie let out a hoot and ran through the corn like a crazed animal.

  "Momma!" he yelled. "It's happenin', Momma. I didn't forget. Three down, two to go."

  He pushed through the stalks to the clearing and collapsed to the ground, lying spread-eagle on his back.

  A voice hammered in his head. It was Momma's. Over and over it begged, Avenge my death! Avenge my death!

  "I will, Momma."

  His eyes rolled back in his head, and a charge of electricity raced through his nerves. His body began to quiver and shake, muscles spasming and writhing. His heart pumped like a piston at full throttle, and his breathing grew raspy and labored.

  A minute later he stopped, opened his eyes, and stared at the velvet sky spattered with tiny pricks of light. A wide smile bunched his cheeks, and he began to laugh hysterically. He chuckled, hooted, and snorted for a little over a minute before stopping to compose himself. He tried to harness his laughter, but it soon broke through his closed mouth in a spray of saliva, and the hysterics resumed. Another minute later, he finally wound down and lay exhausted on the wet ground, breathing heavily.

  "Glen Sterner," he said between
breaths. "Time to pay the piper. Then L-stone."

  CHAPTER 29

  HE AIR IN the house was as cool as a mid-autumn morning. But when Josiah Walker sat straight up in his sleeping bag, eyes wide, mouth agape, sucking air, he was drenched in sweat.

  He'd had a dream. Not a vision-this time it was just a dream.

  No voices this time, either; just images. Gruesome images that struck terror in his mind. In his dream, he had panicked at the sight of the corpses. There were two of them, floating in shallow water, just below the surface, concealed in a stand of cattails. Their bodies were naked and torn to shreds, like someone had run them through a farming combine. And they were faceless. Not faceless as in no features, but faceless as in no face, like it had been chomped clean off.

  But in spite of not seeing their faces, he knew who they were.

  "Oh, God," he whispered into the darkness. "What are You doing here?"

  He unzipped his sleeping bag and swung his legs over the edge of the sofa. He sat there, wiping at his sweat and feeling a chill run through his body as the moisture evaporated in the cool air.

  He needed some tea. He needed to think. He needed to pray.

  Josiah slipped off the sofa and into his slippers and padded across the living room, ignoring the pain in his knees.

  Though he knew his way around the kitchen and had no need for the light, he flipped it on anyway. He put a pot of water on the stove and turned the knob to the left. The gas range clicked a few times and ignited into a blue flame.

  "Lord," he prayed aloud, leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest, "what's happening in this old town? I ain't sure of what You're doing, but I trust You. Lead us."

  He paused and thought about how simple his prayer was. But it had to be simple-God was keeping him in the dark and only allowing pinpoints of light to filter through to him. He knew God was working, but it was behind a veil, hidden from man's eyes and understanding.

  The teapot whistled like a faraway steam engine. Josiah sighed. "You may have to help us out a little more, Lord. We are an ignorant people."